Transformation in a Bookshop
by ladyeyre
Summary: Unseen, a certain former-Slytherin watches, fascinated by Hermione Granger browsing in a bookstore


Author's Note: Clearly, I don't own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, or Edinburgh.

Transformation in a Bookshop

He'd never seen her in a bookstore before. Not since they were children, anyway. And even then, only the once, when his father had made a fool of himself with the other fathers. But she'd only been standing by, scared, then…and swooning over that nincompoop Lockhart before.

Obviously he knew she'd been in bookstores before. Merlin knew she spoke of little that she hadn't read somewhere, and since she was well-known to travel to school every year with a miniature library of her own, it stood to reason she had bought the books somewhere. But to see her, here, in this bookstore, was a bit of a shock. Furthermore, to watch her was nothing less than a revelation.

It was just a hole-in-the wall shop in the wizarding district of Edinburgh. The Hogwarts re-opening was to take place that afternoon, and the principle portkey departure point was just around the corner. He'd only ducked in himself to get out of the endless, frigid drizzle that plagued this otherwise charming city and perhaps pick up something for Scorpius. However, as he looked at souvenirs, he heard the bell above the entrance ring, and, recognizing her, had done the adult thing and hidden himself in the stacks.

Entering the shop, Granger had looked unremarkable. The years hadn't been unkind to her, but then, the years between seventeen and twenty-seven rarely are. The first word he would have used to describe her was "soggy." She wore no mackintosh and carried no umbrella, which he thought showed rather little foresight for a witch of her intelligence. But she chuckled softly at herself and the sky, shivered slightly, and rubbed her arms for warmth, and then began to find herself in the store.

She paused at the first table, the new releases, shiny and hot-off-the-presses, cocking her head, skimming the titles, looking at the covers. She extended her hand to one volume, a biography of the Minister for Magic during the 1940's, detailing his involvement with Muggles during their great international crisis of that period. Before she actually touched the tome, though, she withdrew her hand and moved on.

She didn't just move though, he noticed, she drifted. She almost floated on the ideas and passions enshrined on each of the tables near the entrance, gazing wistfully at some and quizzically at others, reading a few pages here and there, sometimes pausing and staring into space for a moment, deciding if she agreed with an author or not.

She found her way back to the used books section of the shop, where she lost herself quickly. He followed her silently, mesmerized by her dance. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to read leather spines where the titles had begun to wear away. Her eyes lit up with wonder as some long-sought story or book of poems or essays appeared beneath her gently probing but insistent fingertips. These she would open and browse through with eyes shining, cheeks flushing, the slightest smile upon her lips, and after a few lines she would embrace the lucky book. These she kept in the crook of her arm. She couldn't let them be imprisoned again on the dusty shelves. The despair she always felt, knowing that she'd never be able to read all books was lightened with every volume she selected, knowing that at least she'd read this one. She'd collected an armful of bedraggled treasures when she thought to check the time.

"Oof!" she exclaimed, as she hurried to bring her prizes to the register. "Oh, I hope I'm not late! Ron's going to think I'm ridiculous, showing up with an armload of books like this," she said to the shopkeeper, who was trying to make her bundles less awkward. "I can't imagine the faces of the people I'm sharing a portkey with!" Malfoy couldn't help smirking to himself as she dashed out of the shop, bell jingling merrily, untold kilos of books in her arms. He watched her for a moment from the window as she wrestled ungracefully with her packages, slipping now and again as she hurried up the pavement in the dreary mist. Hermione Granger, in a bookshop. Utterly a parody of herself.

Who would have guessed she'd be beautiful there?


End file.
